C&e  ILifirarg 

of  tf>e 

GJntoergitp  of  iSorti)  Carolina 


The  Sylvester  Hassell  Collection 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

Sylvester  Hassell,  D.  D. 

CLASS     OF    '62 

GIVEN   BY    HIS   CHILDREN 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 

ScKool  of    Library 


,'\ 


5  •  *  \  X' 

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*R 


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"  Here  is  a  poor  kitten  that  he  has  almost  killed ;  and  here  is 
his  handkerchief,  which  I  should  like  to  have  him  come 
and  take."— p.  10. 


THE 


MURDERED  MOTHER. 


WRITTEN  FOR  THE  AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION,  AND 
REVISED  BY  THE  COMMITTEE  OF  PUBLICATION. 


AMERICAN     SUNDAY-SCHOOL    UNION, 

NO.  146  CHESTNUT  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835, 
By  P^ul  Beck,  Jr.,  Treasurer, 
in  trust  for  the  American  Sunday-school  Union,  in  the  Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsyl- 
vania. 


THE 


MURDERED  MOTHER. 


I   once    spent   two    or   three 

years  at  P ,  as  the  teacher 

of  a  grammar  school;  and  took 
quite  an  active  interest  in  the 
Sunday-school. 

As  I  was  returning  one  day 
from  a  visit  to  one  of  the  lads  in 
my  class,  1  saw  a  boy  throwing 
oyster-shells  at  a  kitten.  He  had 
tied  the  poor  little  animal  to  the 
fence    by    his    pocket-handker- 

a2  5 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 


chief,  and  had  already  hit  her 
with  the  shells,  so  as  to  mangle 
her  leg  most  cruelly. 

I  told  him  to  stop ;  buT  he 
threw  a  shell  again  and  again. 
I  went  towards  him,  and  he  ran, 
with  a  shell  in  his  hand.  After 
he  had  gone  a  few  rods  he  turned 
around,  and  threw  the  shell  at 
me. 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  7 

As  soon  as  I  could  get  to  her, 
I  released  the  poor  little  kitten, 
and  found,  by  the  mark  on 
the  pocket-handkerchief,  that  the 
cruel  boy's  name  was — Jacob 
Millman. 

I  inquired  of  a  group  of  child- 
ren near  by,  if  they  knew  such  a 
boy  as  Jacob  Millman. 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,"  cried  one 
and  another ;  "  he  lives  in  that 
house,  with  high  steps  before 
the  door,  just  beyond  that  willow 
tree." 

One  of  the  older  boys,  who 
was  quite  civil  and  well-behaved, 
said,  he  was  going  that  way  to 


8  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

the  Post-office,  and  would  show 
me  the  very  house. 

As  we  walked  along,  I  asked 
my  young  friend  what  he  knew 
of  Jacob.  He  said,  he  had  never 
had  much  to  do  with  him.  He 
was  a  bad  boy,  and  every  body 
gave  him  the  name  of  it.  And 
he  thought  the  less  he  had  to  do 
with  such  a  boy,  the  better  it 
was  for  him. 

"Did  he  ever  go  to  Sunday- 
school  T  said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  was  in  the  same 
class  with  me,  but  he  only  went 
a  few  months,  and  was  always 
late;  and  never  had   a  lesson, 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  9 

and  almost  always  forgot  his 
library-book." 

When  I  had  come  to  the 
house,  I  found  I  was  followed  by 
several  children,  who  had  seen 
me  with  a  kitten  in  my  hands, 
and  wondered  what  I  was  going 
to  do  with  it.  While  I  was  talk- 
ing with  them  about  the  cruel 
treatment  the  poor  little  creature 
had  suffered,  and  about  the  sin 
of  using  any  animal  unkindly, 
Jacob's  mother  came  to  the 
door,  and  my  young  friend  im- 
mediately told  me,  that  the  woman 
at  the  door  was  Mrs.  Millman. 

I  saw  Jacob  within  the  house, 


10  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

just  behind  his  mother ;  but  the 
moment  he  perceived  who  I  was, 
he  skulked  away  into  the  yard. 
I  asked  his  mother  if  she  would 
call  him  in,  as  -I  had  something 
I  wished  to  say  to  him. 

"  What  has  he  done,  sir  1  Has 
he  injured  any  body?"  asked 
Mrs.  Millman. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "he  has  shown 
himself  to  be  a  very  wicked, 
cruel  boy.  Here  is  a  poor  kitten 
that  he  has  almost  killed;  and 
here  is  his  handkerchief,  which 
I  should  like  to  have  him  come 
and  take.,?: — [See  Frontispiece.] 

"Come    here,   Jacob,"    cried 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  H 


* 


Mrs.  Millman,  opening  the  door 
that  led  into  the  yard;  "come 
here,  I  tell  you,  and  'hear  what 
the  gentleman  has  to  say." 

"I  ha'nt  touched  him,"  mut- 
tered the  boy;  "and  it's  my  kitten, 
and  he  han't  no  business  with  it, 
nor  with  me  neither." 

"  He  is  a  bad  boy,  sir ;  a  very 
bad  boy,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and 
I  do  not  know  what  will  become 
of  him." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"  Ten  years  old,  next  month," 
she  replied. 

"  How  long  has  his  father  been 
dead?" 


12  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

"  He  died  when  Jacob  was  a 
little  over  a  year  old." 

"Does  he  go  to  Sunday- 
school  r 

"No;  he  does  not  like  to  go 
to  Sunday-school,  and  never  did. 
He  went  a  while,  but  the  teacher 
found  fault  with  him  for  not 
coming  in  better  season,  and  he 
quit  the  school,  and  I  couldn't 
get  him  to  go  back  by  all  I  could 
say  to  him." 

"  Did  his  teacher  never  come 
to  inquire  after  him  T 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  teacher 
after  the  boy  left ;  and  I  did  not 
care  to  see  him,  for  I  don't  think 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  13 

he  treated  the  child  as  he  would 
like  to  have  his  own  boy  treated." 

"  Can  he  read  ?" 

"  He  could  if  he  would,  but  he 
is  all  the  time  out." 

"  Do  you  keep  him  at  home  in 
the  evening '?' 

"  I  do,  sometimes ;  but  he  con- 
trives to  slip  out  almost  every 
night  without  my  knowing  it,  and 
gets  with  other  boys ;  and  if  you 
know  any  thing  about  this  neigh- 
bourhood, you  know  there  are  a 
plenty  such  boys,  and  bad  enough 
they  are  too." 

"My  good  woman,"  said  I, 
"there's  reason  to  believe,  that  if 


14  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

you  both  live,  that  boy  will  cost 
you  a  great  many  tears.  I  see 
you  have  no  control  over  him. 
You  cannot  even  make  him 
come  to  me  to  get  his  hand- 
kerchief. Now  I  warn  you,  that 
he  will  grow  worse  and  worse 
as  he  grows  older.  And,  lightly 
as    you    may    think    of    it,    I 

should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if 
he  should  bring  down  your  gray 
hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
You  are  not  acting  the  part  of  a 
kind  and  faithful  mother  to  him, 
in  letting  him  have  his  own  way  ; 
and  I  fear  you  will  see  the  time 
when  you  will  mourn  that  you 


THE  MURDERER  MOTHER.  15 

did  not  restrain  and  correct  him 
in  the  days  of  his  wildness  and 
folly." 

She  seemed  to  take  what  I 
said,  rather  unkindly.  When  I 
proposed  to  get  him  a  good  place 
in  the  Sunday-school,  she  said, 
she  had  no  very  good  opinion  of 
Sunday-schools,  since  she  knew 
more  about  them,  and  how  her 
boy  was  treated  at  one  of  them. 
I  then  proposed  to  bring  him  an 
interesting  book;  but  she  said, 
"he  had  more  books  now  than 
he  was  willing  to  read ;  and  she 
did  not  know  whether  it  was  a 
good  plan  to  be  tying  children 


16  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

to  books  all  their  days."  I  gave 
her  the  handkerchief,  and  put  the 
kitten  upon  the  floor,  and  went 
on  my  way. 

Soon  after  this,  I  left  the  town, 
and  passed  through  a  course  of 
study  for  the  ministry.  After  I 
had  preached  a  few  years,  my 
health  failed  me,  and  I  was 
obliged  to   travel.      My  course 

led  me  through  P ,  where  I 

spent  the.  Sabbath.  The  place 
had  been  much  changed  during 
my  absence.  New  houses  had 
been  built,  and  old  ones  repaired 
and  painted.  Old  trees  had  been 
cut   or   blown   down,  and   new 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  17 

ones  set  out.  Many  of  the  old 
men  and  women  had  gone  down 
to  the  grave,  and  their  sons  and 
daughters  had  come  up  into  their 
places 

The  pastor  was  absent,  and  I 
consented  to  preach  one  part  of 
the  day,  though  I  was  in  feeble 
health. 

Public  prayers  were  requested 
in  behalf  of  a  woman  who  was 
supposed  to  be  just  closing  life. 
And  1  found,  upon  inquiry,  after 
service,  it  was  the  same  Mrs. 
Millraan,  whose  boy  I  had  fol- 
lowed home  some  years  before. 

A   few    circumstances    were 

b2 


18  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

mentioned,  which  called  back  to 
my  recollection  all  the  scenes  I 
have  related  about  the  boy  and 
the  kitten  ;  and  at  the  earnest 
request  of  the  neighbours,  I  went 
to  see  the  sick  woman,  in  the 
afternoon,  although  she  now  lived 
at  a  distance  from  town. 

I  found  she  was,  indeed,  a 
poor,  miserable,  dying  creature. 
The  house  and  furniture  were 
very  mean  and  comfortless; 
though  there  was  an  air  of  neat- 
ness about  her  bed  and  her  dress 
that  told  of  the  kind  offices  of  a 
neighbour. 

Soon  after  I  began  to  con-  > 


TIE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  19 

verse  with  her,  I  told  her  who  I 
was,  and  reminded  her  of  my 
former  acquaintance  with  her, 
and  of  the  incident  about  the 
kitten ;  and  asked  her  if  the  boy 
was  living. 

"  O,  sir,"   said    she,   covering 
her   face    with    the   bed-clothes, 

'  THAT  BOY   HAS  KILLED  ME." 

She    soon    composed  herself, 


20         THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

and  collecting  what  little  strength 
she  had,  raised  herself  partly  up, 
and  spoke  as  follows  : — 

"  About  three  years, — per- 
haps it  was  four  or  five  years — 
after  you  left  this  town,  a  pre- 
cious minister  of  the  gospel 
came  here.  There  was  a  great 
change  in  the  minds  and  ways 
of  people,  and  my  neighbour, 
here,  Mrs.  Prince,  (looking  to- 
wards the  good  woman  who  was 
kindly  nursing  her,)  would  have 
me  go  and  hear  him.  God  had 
patience  with  me  to  let  me  live 
till  that  time.  Then  he  showed 
mercy  to  my  soul,  by  leading  me 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  21 

to  a  place  of  prayer,  where  I 
heard  the  blessed  news,  that 
Jesus  Christ  had  come  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners,  and  where 
my  eyes  were  opened  to  see 
what  my  true  state  was.  I  hope 
I  there  found  a  Saviour.  I  think 
that  he  has  been  near  and  pre- 
cious to  me  ever  since  ;  and  I 
am  sure  he  is  nearer  and  more 
precious  to  me  now  than  ever 
before.  And  for  all  this,  I  do 
bless  and  praise  his  great  and 
holy  name.  But  that  boy — O, 
that  boy, — if  I  had  followed 
him  to  the  grave  that  day  you 
followed  him  home — but  it  is 
well—" 


22         THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

After  a  short  pause,  she  con- 
tinued :— 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  sir, 
Jacob  got  to  be  so  unsteady  and 
mischievous  that,  at  last,  I  was 
persuaded  by  the  neighbours  to 
put  him  in  the  House  of  Refuge, 

in .     I  had  often  heard  that 

this  was  a  good  place,  and  that 
many  boys  had  been  made  bet- 
ter by  being  there ;  and  though 
it  was  a  hard  trial,  I  consented 
to  his  being  put  there.  He  was  in 
the  House  of  Refuge  better  than 
thirteen  months.  I  was  very  far 
from  feeling  easy  about  him,  and 
I  finally  persuaded  some  of  my 
friends  to  get  him  out.     He  had 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  23 

behaved  himself,  generally,  very 
well;  and  upon  my  earnest  de- 
sire that  he  might  be  returned  to 
me,  and  upon  his  solemn  and 
repeated  promises  that  he  would 
not  go  back  to  his  old  ways,  he 
was  sent  home. 

"I  persuaded  my  neighbour, 
Mr.  Drummond,  to  take  him,  and 
teach  him  the  trade  of  a  wheel- 
wright. He  liked  ]\Jr.  Drummond, 
and  liked  the  trade  very  well, 
but  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do  or 
say,  he  would  not  be  bound.  I 
told  him  how  much  safer  he 
would  be,  how  much  temptation 
he  might  avoid,  and  how  much 
more  likely  he  would  be  to  be 


24         THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

steady,  if  he  was  bound ;  but  he 
said,  "  he  would  not  be  bound  to 
anybody.  He  was  not  made  to 
be  bound."  He  was  willing  to 
stay  with  Mr.  Drummond,  as 
long  as  they  could  both  agree  ; 
but  "he  would  be  no  man's  slave." 
"  About  three  months  after  he 
went  to  his  trade,  there  was  a 
military  parade  near  by,  and 
Jacob  wanted  to  go  ;  but  there 
was  some  pressing  work  in  the 
shop,  which  Mr.  Drummond  was 
very  anxious  to  have  done,  and 
he  refused  to  let  him  go.  That 
night  he  ran  away;  and  I  did 
not  see  him  for  almost  a  month. 
It  was  during  this  time  that  the 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  25 

Lord  had  mercy  on  my  soul,  and 

brought  me  to  feel  the  worth  of 

a    Saviour.      When    he    came 

back,  I  had  a  long  conversation 

with  him,  in  which  he  seemed 

willing  to  tell  me  about  all  his 

evil  ways.    I  found  he  had  made 

some   very    bad    acquaintances 

before  he  went  to  the  House  of 

Refuge ;  and  that  every  day  he 

was  in  the  company  of  profane, 

idle,  and  Sabbath-breaking  boys. 

In  the  evening  he  would  pretend 

he  had  to  go  to  one  place  and 

another,  yet  he  never  would  tell 

me  where  he  had  been,  or  what 

he  had  been  doings   I  have  no 

doubt  that  he  was  then  in  the 
c 


26  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

way  of  going  to  taverns,  and 
other  drinking  places.  Weeks 
and  months  passed  in  this  way, 
and  no  tongue  can  tell  what  I 
suffered  in  that  time.  I  walked 
my  chamber  many  nights — the 
whole  live-long  night — waiting 
for  that  boy  to  come  home,  and 
thinking  what  would  become  of 
him  if  he  was  not  checked  in 
his  downward  way.  I  prayed 
that  God  would  forgive  all  his 
mother's  negligence  and  impro- 
per indulgence  of  him,  and  save 
the  boy  from  the  dreadful  power 
of  the  wicked  one.  I  tried — O, 
how  often — to  persuade  him  to 
do  better. 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  27 

"  One  morning  in  particular,  I 
remember  I  went  to  him,  and 
my  tears  fell  upon  his  clothes,  as 
I  stood  over  him,  and  besought 
him  to  forsake  his  evil  compa- 
nions. He  wiped  my  tears  away 
carelessly;  turned  from  me,  and 
went  away,  muttering  some  bad* 
words,  of  which  I  heard  enough 
to  make  my  heart  ache.  Surely, 
I  thought,  '  a  foolish  son  is  the 
heaviness  of  his  mother? 

"  By  the  kindness  of  some  of 
my  neighbours,  Jacob  got  em- 
ployment in  the  grocery  store, 
next  below  the  school-house. 
One  morning,  Mr.  Wilkins,  the 
grocer,   sent   him   to   the   bank 


28 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 


with  some  money.  On  his  way, 
he  met  with  an  old  acquaintance, 
who  persuaded  him  to  make  off 
with  what  he  had  got.  He  did 
so ;  but  was  taken  up  that  very 
night,  and  brought  back,  and 
nearly  all  the  money  found  in 
his  possession.  The  officer  was 
kind  enough  to  bring  him  home, 
that  he  might  see  me.  It  was 
late  in  the  evening. 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  29 

"  He  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
begged  me  to  save  him,  and  pro- 
mised every  thing  good.  He 
said,  if  I  would  only  let  him  stay 
that  night,  he  would  give  himself 
up  the  next  morning.  I  told  him 
it  was  too  late  for  me  to  help 
him ;  and  that  I  could  only  pray 
for  him,  and  I  would  do  that 
night  and  day,  as  long  as  I  had 
breath.  As  he  was  leaving  the 
door,  I  said  to  him,  '  Jacob, 
when  I  hear  where  you  are,  I 
will  send  you  some  comfortable 
clothes,  poor  as  I  am;  and  if 
you  are  sick,  I  will  come  and  see 
you.  But  you  are  in  God's 
hands,  my  poor  child,  and  my 

c2 


30  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

last  nope  is,  that  God  will,  for 
Christ's  sake,  yet  have  mercy 
upon  your  soul.' 

"  As  he  went  away  from  the 
house,  I  was  sitting  by  that  win- 
dow," said  she,  pointing  to  an 
open  window  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  "  and  I  could  not 
but  say,  within  myself,  '  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  a  child  of  mine,  and  a 
child  too  that  I  loved  as  I  did 
that  boy,  is  in  the  hands  of  an 
officer,  on  his  way  to  jail !' 

"  When  he  came  to  be  tried 
before  the  court,  he  sent  for  me 
to  come  and  help  him ;  but  I 
could  not  go ;  and  I  knew  I 
could  do  him  no  good  if  I  did 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  31 

go.  He  was  sent  to  prison  for 
eighteen  months,  and  his  time 
will  be  out  next  spring.  But  I 
cannot  tell  you  all.  O,  sir,  it  is — 
it  is,  indeed,  a  bitter  thing  to  a 
mother  to  have  a  thoughtless, 
wicked  child.  It  has  weighed 
me  down  night  and  day;  and 
now,  I  think  what  will  become 
of  him  when  he  comes  out  of 
prison.  But  I  shall  not  be  here. 
I  know  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth 
will  do  right :  the  blood  of  Christ 
cleanses  from  all  sin.  I  am 
willing  to  give  him  up  to  the  will 
of  Him  who  does  all  things 
well." 
This  was  the  substance  of  the 


32  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

dying  woman's  story.  She  was 
often  interrupted  by  a  gush  of 
tears,  and  several  times  her 
strength  almost  failed  her. 

I  thought  it  would  be  cruel  to 
remind  her  of  the  words  I  had 
spoken  to  her  many  years  be- 
fore, when  I  followed  this  same 
child  home  from  his  cruel  sport. 
I  prayed  with  her,  and  for  her, 
and  for  her  profligate  child ;  and 
in  less  than  a  week,  as  I  after- 
wards learned,  the  good  woman 
was  taken  from  this  valley  of 
tears,  and  admitted,  I  trust,  to  a 
better  and  brighter  world. 

O,  if  children  could  but  know 
what  sorrows  they  heap  upon  a 


I 
THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.  33 

mother's  heart,  when  they  are 
pursuing  their  wicked  courses, 
they  would  shudder  at  their  own 
guilt.  They  would  as  soon  think 
of  lifting  their  hands  to  shed  a 
mother's  blood,  as  of  piercing  her 
heart  through  and  through  with 
such  bitter  sorrows.  They  drink 
wine ;  they  laugh  and  sing ;  they 
forget  and  forsake  home,  and 
wander  away  with  the  thought- 
less and  profane ;  while  the  mo- 
ther that  brought  them  into  be- 
ing, and  fed,  and  nursed,  and 
watched  over  them  in  helpless 
infancy,  and  took  care  of  them 
in  sickness  and  in  health,  by 
night   and  by  day,  is  at   home, 


34  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

perhaps,  in  some  lonely  chamber, 
mourning  over  their  folly,  and 
pouring  out  tears  and  prayers 
before  God  on  their  account. 
What  a  picture  of  ingratitude 
and  sin  is  seen  in  a  thoughtless, 
thankless,  rebellious  child! 

Jacob  was  discharged  from 
prison  at  the  end  of  eighteen 
months ;  but  before  he  had  been 
out  a  week,  he  was  tempted  to 
go  to  the  theatre,  where  he  stole 
a  pocket-book  from  a  country- 
man's pocket.  He  was  suspect- 
ed, and  pursued.  When  the 
officer  came  up  to  arrest  him,  he 
seized  a  stick  of  wood,  and  struck 
him  so  severely  that  he  died  that 


THE  MURDERED  MOTHER.         35 

same  night.  The  wretched  young 
man  was  thrown  back  again  into 
a  gloomy  prison ;  was  afterwards 
tried,  and  found  guilty  of  murder ; 
and  is  now  passing  his  silent, 
lonely  life  in  one  of  our  peniten- 
tiaries. 

It  is  not  long  since  I  saw  him 
in  his  solitary  dwelling-place. 
After  an  hour's  conversation  with 
him  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  I 
said  to  him,  "Well,  Millman,  I 
suppose  you  sometimes  think  of 
your  mother,  and  your  treatment 
of  her  ?" 

"  Ah!  that  I  do,"  said  the  un- 
happy young  man.  "  Yes,  sir,  I 
do,  indeed.    Often  have  I  started 


36  THE  MURDERED  MOTHER. 

up  from  that  narrow  bed  of  mine, 
(pointing  to  an  iron  framed  bed- 
stead that  was  turned  up  against 
the  wall,  in  one  corner  of  his  cell,) 
often  have  I  started  up  from  that 
bed,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
and  thrown  the  clothes  off  from 
me,  while  my  hair  stood  up  stiff 
upon  my  head,  and  a  cold  shiver- 
ing crept  over  my  body ;  and  I 
have  opened  my  mouth  to  cry — 
MY  MOTHER!  MY  MUR- 
DERED MOTHER!  Bad  as 
I  am,  my  lips  have  quivered  when 
I  have  laid  me  down  again,  and 
my  tears  have  come  as  a  little 
child's,  until  I  could  not  find  a  dry 
place  to  lay  my  cheek  upon" 


